


Lust for Life

by RA Couture (rachcouture)



Category: Fashion Model RPF, Real Person Fiction, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Abstract, Adventure, Airplane Crashes, Blood, Blood and Injury, Cabins, Campfires, Closeted Characters, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drama, Existentialism, F/F, Fever Dreams, First Kiss, Gentle Kissing, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Matter of Life and Death, Meta, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Neck Kissing, Nightmares, Protectiveness, Questioning, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Surreal, Survival, Symbolism, Tension, Walks In The Woods, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachcouture/pseuds/RA%20Couture
Summary: A weeklong getaway turns visceral, and bittersweet. Repressed feelings surface on the journey home.





	1. Light Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hypnagogic heartland thriller as told through contiguous day-by-day vignettes. Based off a plot pitch for an original spec script, subsequently abandoned for other, stronger concepts. A few shameless character swaps and here we are.

Exploding fiberglass. The whine of a turbine, grinding to a pitiful halt, hairs raised as the altitude plummets like mercury.

This is a nightmare turned lucid.

"Ms. Swift, I really need you to sit dow-"

A second explosion jerks the aircraft about. Someone's head crashing into a cabin window. Glass shatters; tears open the vacuum.

"Taylor!" This cry is barely audible, drowned out in the depressurization.

Tree-bound whiplash. A single wing clipped clean off. Steel framework twists, turns; contorts. It's an agonizing sound.


	2. After the Crash

Hazel eyes ease open, try to focus.

Karlie's world is a blur. Blood flows from a gash on her forehead. It's not long before the realization hits, panic across her face.

_Fuck._

Private jet out of LAX. Girl's week out. Engine fire starboard.

The seatbelt around Karlie's waist clicks, releases. She wears a black leather jacket over a loose white v-neck tee, black camisole peeking out around the shoulders. Calf-high boots in black leather ride over skinny jeans below, faded blue.

Karlie tries to stand, but crumples to the floor instead. Everything's spinning. She lets her eyes fall shut; gives her balance a chance to recover, but doesn't wait long.

Inches away lays Taylor unconscious, tossed, discarded like a rag doll. Dressed like one, too: black turtleneck sweater tight on the torso. A plaid skirt over black tights. Glossy red Mary Janes like Dorothy.

It takes all of Karlie's strength to pull herself closer. She reaches for the closest of Taylor's hands; nudges the sleeve up, and takes hold of her wrist, loose. There's a pulse—soft, constant. Karlie exhales with relief.

Pushes herself off the ground, a chair twisted off its frame for support. Busted lighting flickers above. Takes it all in: wrecked cabin, steel peeled, split open port-side.

Karlie steps carefully around Taylor. She hobbles toward the cockpit, door open, swaying back and forth in the wind. Peeks her head in.

Branches have broken through the front windows, pilot gored to death like a pincushion. His blood is splattered all over the gauges. The sight has Karlie pale, and with a hand over her mouth. She closes the door; locks it without a second thought.

Returns, kneels at Taylor's side. One hand brushes the hair out of Taylor's face. Underneath: tiny pieces of glass embedded in numerous horizontal cuts across closed eyelids and rosy cheeks, a nasty bruise adjacent to the temple.

Karlie takes Taylor into her arms now; drags her to one corner of the cabin gentle as possible. One of Taylor's feet catches on a rise in the floor. It tears her back to consciousness in an instant. She yelps, eyes shot open in severe pain.

"Shit!" Karlie drops to her knees, best friend supported against her stomach, and held close. Their eyes trace down Taylor's gazelle legs, come to a stop at one foot twisted—dislocated—out of the socket. 

 

* * *

 

Taylor leans back into the cabin wall. Blue eyes—bloodshot—struggle to focus. "Are you okay?"

"Relatively." Karlie tucks back a strand of blonde hair; forces a smile. Sits at Taylor's feet. "More worried about you." The buckles on those ruby slippers pop loose. "I'm really not sure if I can do this..."

"You have to." Tay gasp, bites into her lower lip. Both shoes are off now. "Please..."

A nod is all Karlie can manage, straddled over Taylor now, hands to her hips, and under the skirt; helps her peel the tights back. Their eyes briefly meet. Hair raises as cold air meets bare skin.

Karlie slides back, hands rested on Taylor's battered ankle. The bruising and swelling is horrible. She's hesitating.

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

Pulls Tay's foot back into place without further warning. Painful screams taper into whines, whimpers.

 

* * *

 

Evening sunlight beams through broken glass.

Taylor—relatively fresh-faced, and hair pinned up in a ponytail—sits, trembles in Karlie's lap. The agony lingers; leaves her breathless.

On the floor: a disorganized first aid kit, and a damp, bloodstained cloth.

Karlie unwinds a roll of white gauze; wraps it gently around the worst of Taylor's injured eyes, careful to avoid stray hairs. Staggers the fabric towards the other once finished.

"Not both." A weak, pleading protest.

Scraped hands come to a halt. "It'd be better if you let them rest."

"What does it matter? I can't make out much either way, but at least like this, I know where you are."

"... okay."

Karlie drops the subject. Sets the unused gauze to the side, focus to the tie in Taylor's hair. Waves of natural blonde fall back into place. It's an endearing look with the bandages.

"What about the pilot?"

No answer. The silence and lack of eye contact says it all.

"You're going to have to go for help. I can barely even move."

Karlie rolls her eyes, shakes her head. "I'm not leaving you here alone, wherever 'here' even is."

"Klossy, please-"

Comes out with it blunt. "No. I'll carry you if I have to, but we're going together, or not at all." Softens. "Pretty sure people care more about you than me, anyway."

"Don't." Taylor snakes her arms around Karlie's waist, head to chest.

The gesture leaves Kloss speechless, embracing without a second thought. Her leather jacket lays off to the side. She reaches for it; drapes it over Taylor like a makeshift blanket, held close underneath.

Taylor manages a slight smile. Doesn't take her long to fall asleep, Karlie watchful in the fading sunlight.


	3. ... And So It Goes

Karlie holds her smartphone in the air. Zero bars through a cracked screen.

"Any luck?"

She glances behind; shakes her head. "No. Same as before."

Several feet away sits Taylor on an averaged-sized boulder, a blanket draped on her shoulders like a poncho. She gives Karlie a reassuring smile. "We'll just have to try somewhere else."

Karlie forces one in turn; wanders back to Taylor's side, hands in her jacket pockets. Her hair blows in the wind. Deep woodlands encroach on the clearing they rest in, stretch on for miles.

One grey-blue eye—hidden behind a pair of white frame designer sunglasses—stares at the overcast sky. "You know I used to daydream about this?"

"What, getting lost in the woods?" Karlie sits close to Taylor.

"Mhm." Taylor grins. "Just without the crash landing."

That comment has Kloss smiling genuine, but it doesn't last. "Have things really been that bad?"

Swift nods, looks to Karlie. "Better than a year ago, but I still feel vulnerable, or like I'm walking on shards of glass. Not sure how much more I can take."

"I should have been there for you."

Taylor shakes her head. "You were busy. We both were. I'm not going to blame you for that."

"Doesn't make me feel like any less of a shitty friend." Karlie has a hand over one of Taylor's, apologetic; tries to smile for her. "At least a certain someone showed up at the right time?"

There's no immediate answer, just a hesitant nod.

Kloss squeezes on Tay's hand; she's trying to find the right words.

Taylor doesn't give her the chance. "I mean it's not that we don't get along, or that he doesn't care; I'd be so gone otherwise. It's not that I don't love him, either, because I really, _really_ do, but-" A pause. "-honestly, Karlie? He's like a brother to me, not a boyfriend. It's fucking me up so bad." Distress waxes over Taylor's face. "I have the most perfect man anyone could possibly even have, and I'm not even happy with it." She sulks, stares into her lap; doesn't dare make I'm eye contact. "Sorry, this- this isn't the time or place. I just don't want to prove everyone right. Not again." This has been bottled up for some time.

Leather-clad arms wrap tight around Taylor, hug her dearly. No further words are exchanged. A cold wind blows.


	4. An Unlikely Guest / Catharsis

A heavy fog bends through elder trees. Moss and stone litter the forest floor.

Taylor limps on her busted ankle, supported by Karlie at her side. Both of their faces are clean now—no blood or makeup to mask the exhaustion.

A gnarled cedar root juts out of the soil on the path ahead; it jumps out, snags on Swift's foot in the worst. She gasps, frozen as the pain shoots up her entire leg, complexion waxed over in sickly pallor.

Kloss catches her before she can fall. "Let's stop for a while, okay?" The concern couldn't be anymore apparent.

A weak nod is all Taylor can manage... until a branch broken underfoot has both women startled, hesitant to turn around. Their gaze meets with pointed yellow eyes—a woodland fox, head canted in curiosity, red fur silhouetted over a bright grey backdrop.

 

* * *

 

Flames dance in Karlie's eyes, back rested against an adjacent tree, Taylor nestled under one arm, blanket draped over both their shoulders. Firewood crackles. Embers sparkle in the dark.

Taylor—sunglasses removed—squirms, a shiver running up her spine; looks miserable.

"You're burning up." Kloss has her cheek pressed to Swift's forehead.

No response; just a shift in weight, and an indifferent whimper. Taylor is in Karlie's lap now. Thin arms hug loose around the neck.

"Tay?"

Grey-blue lazily drifts to hazel eye level, wanton. "... what?"

"I'm-" That look has Kloss spellbound. "Maybe I'm not happy, either."

The grasp around Taylor's waist tightens. "Of course you're not." Their foreheads meet. "He's not me."

Chapped lips press into Karlie's cheek, a scraped palm against the other. Her breathing trembles.

Cold hands run up Taylor's back, and under knit cotton. Her spine arcs inward. Kloss is hesitating. "We shouldn't. We both have someone to come home to."

"Who said I wanted to go home?" She's leaving sweet little kisses along Karlie's jawline. "Tired of lying to myself."

"Taylor, hon-"

Swift cuts her off—hand over mouth. "Shut. Up." This is breathy, and in the ear. Hairs raise. "Either you want me, or you don't, and let's be honest: we both know the answer. We've known for a while now. So show me." Karlie's lips part, enough for Taylor's thumb to pass through. "Show me while there's still time."

Kloss nods, nibbles on that fingertip; helps her new-found lover out of her sweater. Cuts, scrapes, bruises under campfire light. A lacy red push-up bra, too.

Taylor is pulled into another embrace, blanket drawn over. Fabric ripples in the wind. Their lips press together; don't dare part, fingers entwined in blonde hair. Feverish body heat swells between them.

A shaky hand runs down Swift's battered stomach, and over the hips. Karlie can't hold back any longer; slides between lace and skin, warmth surrounding her long fingers fucking shamelessly. It steals Taylor's attention without warning, face buried—cradled—against her lover's shoulder, nails dug in deep along the back Karlie's neck. Skin breaks. Blood trickles.

Doesn't stop Kloss from pressing further into Taylor's clit, one leg tightening around her lower back. Swift trembles in Karlie's lap, struggles to breathe; hits her orgasm shortly after, heart pounding, continuous sloppy neck kisses a saccharine 'thank you'.

Karlie nibbles on her wet finger tips, eyes shut; lets her head crane back into the palm of Taylor's hand. She's in heaven.


	5. Burning Out

The morning after. Their journey continues, woodlands more dense than before.

Taylor has begun to lag behind. It has Karlie concerned; glancing back in minutes-long intervals.

"I'm fine. Promise." This is said with a forced, pale-faced smile.

Karlie comes to a stop. "You know we can walk side by side."

Tay shakes her head. "It's better if you lead. I'd just end tripping again."

Kloss nods, and turns back around, eyes dropped to the dying smart phone in one hand, compass app open—vaguely north. Powers it down soon after, eyes straining through the deep fog. She exhales.

A muffled thud behind has her jumping, head snapped in that same direction.

Taylor has collapsed to the forest floor.

"Taylor!"

Karlie runs; drops to her side, trembling in panic.

"Honey, you have to get up." Shakes the girl at her knees. "Please!" A panicked whine.

Taylor barely stirs, hearing drowned out in a deafening ring. Her world blurs out; fades to black. A tired eyelid draws shut over a bleary eye.

"Please..."


	6. Betrayal

Pale, ominous clouds swirl, blanket the plateaued mountain below.

Taylor stands cliff-side, bare feet solid against rain weathered slate. She wears a strappy black summer dress; delicate chiffon drapes down, falls close to her ankles, dancing in the wind. The air is cold. A shiver runs up her spine.

Grey-blue eyes affix to the scenery ahead: desolate woodland plains rolling for miles—endless.

A silhouetted presence approaches Taylor from behind. She glances back; greets it with a bright, warm, longing smile. There's a hand to her shoulder—masculine, owner's face nuzzled to the back of her neck.

"Hey. I've missed you-"

Taylor cuts herself off, eyes wide with pain and shock. Glances down to a horrific sight: a knife impaled through her chest. Blood gushes.

It's yanked out, visceral. She yelps in pain; spins around to her attacker, hand clutched to that gaping wound. Stainless steel clatters against stone. No words are found.

The wind picks up; throws Taylor off her balance. She stumbles, trips backwards over the ledge. Jagged rocks and gnarled tree roots tear her apart on the way down. Bruises. Broken bones. Terrible gashes over rough scrapes.

Barely survives the impact, insides rattled hard. The pain is too intense to feel anymore. Blood and tears seep into the soil.

Within Taylor's blurring field of vision: something—someone—looming adjacent. Taylor reaches out, pleading with her dying strength. They turn instead; walk away without a care. It's the last thing she sees.


	7. Broken Doll Breathes Again

Warm candlelight flickers, exposes Taylor's dread, teeth clenched, one eye shot wide open in the dark. Peach-pink complexion glistens with thick sweat, damp hair adhered to wet skin. She's clenching a hand to her chest. No stab wound.

Wooden beams cross the ceiling above. Below: Taylor alone in an iron frame double bed. The blankets have been kicked off to one side, all sorts of tangled.

Sitting upright is a struggle. Battered legs dangle from the mattress edge.

"Karlie...?" A breathy, pained whine. Her lungs hurt. Everything hurts. She's stripped down to her lacy undergarments, worst of her days-old injuries bandaged in soft white gauze.

Rising to her feet has Taylor drained. She stumbles around the bed, towards, and into the connected hallway several steps away. Shaky hands drag along the walls for support. Towards the end is a soft glow; dim orange, creeping around the approaching corner, pulsing like a dim beacon. Taylor follows. There's nowhere else to go.

Drawn by the light, and into the living area. Center the cozy space is a burning fireplace. To the front is a couch in tatters; blankets mask the wear and tear, add to the charm. Karlie has found refuge here, one arm draped over the side, partial silhouette. Firewood pops, crackles. She is sound asleep.

Taylor hobbles towards the couch. Flames dance behind her.

Karlie's eyes open in unison. She sits up; stands in awe, one hand held over her mouth. Embraces Taylor in an instant.

"What did I miss?" Taylor returns the hug. Her grasp on Karlie is weak; featherweight.

"Nothing, it's just-" Karlie—crying—pulls back to look Taylor in the eye, hands to shoulders. "It felt like you were never going to wake up."

Eases Taylor onto the couch; doesn't dare let go, countless kisses on cheeks.


End file.
